


Deacon/Blue

by Sher_Indigo



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Drunken Flirting, F/M, Misunderstandings, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 02:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11568021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sher_Indigo/pseuds/Sher_Indigo
Summary: Deacon has been tracking this apparent new arrival into the Commonwealth and a lot of things simply don't add up.  He decides to try to find out more, undercover, while she is alone at the Third Rail.I realise this might be a controversial one, but my little brain went and wondered why Deacon was quite soooo keen to get the SS involved in the railroad and I came to the conclusion of - guilty conscience.  This story deals in that why.  It is part of a wider work that I hope to put here, but this little scene seemed complete enough on its own.  Don't get me wrong, I love Deacon, but I do think he can be capable of some quite heartless things, especially if he thinks he's right... he's only human after all.





	Deacon/Blue

**Author's Note:**

> The archive warning is just there as a caution. This story is essentially a drunken one-night stand and consent could be argued. I hope I've implied enough that she was quite up for the encounter, but how she is persuaded into the encounter and how she is treated afterwards isn't proper, hence the warning. He does manipulate her, which is fairly reprehensible, but he is paid to be paranoid so perhaps could be forgiven for overthinking. She's in a vulnerable position (future stories will reveal more as to why she is so). Anyway, this is a story, and I aim to look at the manipulation and misunderstanding - if Deacon had caught her on any other day, he'd have got nothing but a straight answer from her, in fact, she doesn't lie to him at all even so, but he's so paranoid he thinks she must be hiding something...

As the sun set over the buildings, Deacon lit another cigarette and watched his target make her way into the Third Rail. He still couldn’t figure her out and it was driving him crazy. She’d been in and out of that dive a few weeks back, leaving a few times with the young merc MacCready. That just didn’t fit with this squeaky clean “Angel of the Commonwealth” shtick that seemed to have stuck to her. Sure, she seemed to have done some good things - getting those settlers set up at Sanctuary for one, helping that old synth detective get out of a tight spot for another - but that couldn’t be the whole story, she had to have some other agenda… was simply getting her radroaches in a row before knocking everything down. At least, that’s what he figured.

Lately she hadn’t been traveling with Nick or that merc and had been drifting about alone for nearly a week. She didn’t visit any of her settlements, didn’t seem to speak to anyone and she didn’t do any of her renowned do-gooding either. That she’d come to Goodneighbour had been a bit of a surprise, especially since she’d managed to sneak past the guards and not even the Mayor knew she was in town.

And now she was in the bar. He peeled away from the wall and followed her inside at a discrete distance. MacCready was away on another job so she couldn’t be there to see him. Intrigued, he breezed past Ham and went down the stairs. Magnolia was in fine voice, as ever. The usual collection of drifters and hoods lying low cluttered the place. He spotted his mark at the bar, ordering a drink from Charlie. The cranky old bot was rude, Deacon was gratified to note, which meant she didn’t have everyone falling at her feet. Once she’d received her bottle of beer she went to sit in a secluded corner at the end of the bar, just far enough away that even if anyone did recognise her, it was clear that she wasn’t in the mood to be bothered.

He’d see about that. 

He watched as she drained the bottle of beer with a grimace and flagged Charlie for another. My my, he thought, was she in for the evening?

Deacon observed from the shadows, creating a pall of smoke around himself smoking one cigarette after another and decided, after her fourth beer, that she might be sufficiently lubricated to let slip with some details, especially if he laid on the charm and bought the next few rounds.

 

*

 

“Hey there,” He smiled easily as he slid onto the neighbouring barstool from his mark. Not a flicker. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is this a private party or can anyone join in?”

Her eyes twitched in his direction before returning to the bottle that she was carefully and meticulously peeling the label off in tiny strips and curling each piece into miniature spirals. She finished the spiral she was working on and growled, “Leave me alone.” Before beginning the next thin strip of paper.

He gestured to Charlie for another couple of drinks. He put his caps down and the dour robot swept them away with a curse before thumping two bottles of Gwinnett Pale onto the bar before him. “Cheers, Charlie!” Deacon said cheerily, taking a swig, “Always nice to see such good customer service!”

A smile threatened the corner of her mouth. Bingo! So she liked a bit of pre-war talk, he could do that, he’d read enough books and comics. He nudged the bottle towards her. She glared at it. He nudged the bottle towards her again before holding his hands up, as if surrendering, “Let me just buy you a drink, as an apology for disturbing your privacy. I’m sorry. Sue me, but I saw a beautiful woman sitting all alone and couldn’t help myself.”

Her gaze turned to him a little longer, this time filled with suspicion. He kept his hands up and gave her a disarming smile. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. God I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

“Pretty much.” She agreed with a wry smile and finally accepted the bottle that was now a couple of inches from her elbow. “I’m sorry for being rude, I was just hoping for some peace and quiet.”

Damn but she was a strange one. Peace and quiet? In Goodneighbour? Who was she kidding? And apologising for being rude? Where the hell had she been? He decided the best policy in winning his mark though was not to scoff but accept what she was saying. “Amen, sister.” He muttered and took a long draught of his beer. He started a story about trying to help out some friends who were setting up a farm - first came raiders, then came super mutants and after his friend’s wife and unborn son was killed, they ran but got split up. They said they might meet up in Goodneighbour, but so far there had been no sign of him.

He could tell that she was getting a little more than tipsy. She took another drink, had a wry laugh to herself and then turned to him, “So do you want me to go find him? Your friend?”

Deacon felt poised on a precipice. He knew her trust depended on the answer he gave… should he be cavalier…or should he really go for the sympathy?

He buried his head in his hands and let out a choked sob. “I wouldn’t want to waste your time, I’m sure he’ll be dead by now - he wouldn’t leave his wife behind, or even the damned brahmin!”

Jackpot. He thought as he felt her hand on his arm in an apparent gesture of sympathy. “Its OK,” she told him gently, “I - I understand.”

It was a good act of hers, he had to admit, that appearance of genuine sympathy, but he wasn’t buying it for a second. He decided to risk a step up in the game since she seemed to be taking his bait. “I just…” he choked back a fake sob, and knew he had it right as soon as he felt her fingers tighten on her arm, “I just wanted to believe him…when he said that things might be better now.”

Her hand stilled. Oh. Perhaps he’d overplayed his hand. He decided to add something else to the mix. He burst into tears - a good showing for him - and for a moment she seemed at a loss what to do. The hand left his arm and went to his shoulder. Bingo! With a grumble, she allowed him to weep his crocodile tears on her shoulder for several minutes. He took a liberty and wrapped his arms around her and was gratified that she didn’t try to push him away. Once he was held close, he breathed against her neck, apparently calming in her presence.

“Hey, hey,” she said, “easy there, fella.” She quietly tried to disentangle herself, but he maintained his grip, still ‘weeping.’ She gave him a more unsubtle shove and sat upright on her stool again, but he managed a slow sweep of his cheek past hers, just that tiny bit intimate. “I don’t know you, I’m sorry. I feel every sympathy for what you are going through…”

“I’m Michael,” he stopped her with a sudden cheery smile that looked brave amongst his tears and held out his hand for a handshake. She liked the old-fashioned and the pre-war. 

“Eva.” She gave him a lop-sided smile that he found quite appealing and accepted his handshake firmly. “Eva Black.”

“Nice to meetcha.” He opted for the cheesier side of charming, and then dove straight in with one of his key questions whilst she was on the back foot. “Why did you offer to go and find my friend?”

She took a long drink from her bottle and put it down, apparently misjudging the distance and the bottle clattered clumsily on the bar top. She gave another dry laugh, “Its what I do…apparently.”

“Really?” He gave her a hopeful gulp, “Does that mean you could… you know… find my…friend?”

“Oh, probably.” She waved her empty bottle in the air and Charlie begrudgingly brought two more over and quietly took her caps. She seemed to have a ready supply of money, which definitely belied the notion that she had just stepped out of a vault. “It is my raison d’etre by all accounts.”

She didn’t sound happy about that, which also confused him a little, but he knew he was on the right track and she was just about ripe for him to dig that bit deeper and potentially discover her agenda. He gestured to Charlie to bring them some Scotch and some glasses. She was still lost in her beer so didn’t notice.

“So…you find people?”

“Nick and I… yeah.” She heaved a sigh and didn’t seem to notice that her drink had changed to a tumbler of spirit. Her mood had become heavier, and that wasn’t good. He paused, hoping she’d talk some more, but she didn’t other than to say, “except we can never seem to find the people that matter.”

That could mean anything, he thought, and decided that he was going to have to lighten the mood a bit if he was going to get any more information with her. He placed his hand on her arm, brightening his expression before saying, “Hey, did you hear the one about the feral and the box of mentats?”

She gave him a grateful smile for not asking further about what was clearly bothering her about Nick and finding people. He’d get to the bottom of that later. In the meantime, he had some serious flirting to do, the smile she had just given him suggested she might be open to a bit of flirting from him. He used his sunglasses as a hide to observe her figure. This will not be an onerous job, he smirked. Ohh, Deacon, taking one for the team, as ever. 

 

*

 

Much later, after several more strong beverages, she hadn’t revealed anything deeper than some jokes to rival his own. At one point she’d grabbed him by the front of his tatty farmhand shirt, and gave him a quite sexy little sideways smile before saying, “Do you want to know a secret?”

Oh boy, he thought, this must be it… “I would love to know a secret of yours.” He smiled encouragingly.

Her hand loosened on his shirt and she hiccupped. “Actually, I guess it isn’t that much of a secret - but it is quite funny all the same.”

“What?” His eyes were wide behind his shades, trying desperately not to seem too eager.

“Did you know…” she trailed off and jabbed a finger into his chest, giggling a little, “that I’m over two hundred years old!”

“No way!” No way. She looked too fresh to be a ghoul, although some of her conversation was wacky enough to suggest she might already be turning feral. “You look fantastic!”

She smiled bashfully and nearly fell of her barstool. “Oops!” She giggled again. “Too many sherbets. You’re a bad influence, Michael.”

You don’t know that half of it, my dear, he thought gravely. “I know, I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

“Terrible!” She agreed and took a half-hearted swing at his arm, missing by quite some distance and almost ending up on the floor. He caught her and took the opportunity to gather her in close and place his face near hers.

“Ohh.” She tried to find her feet. “I’m so glad Codsworth isn’t here to see me like this.”

Who the hell was Codsworth? “Don’t worry, darling,” he smoothed, “I like it when a woman falls into my arms.”

“Ooops, I have rather, haven’t I?” She hiccupped and giggled again. She had drunk a lot of liquor, but this display couldn’t be real, nobody was this adorably helpless when plastered out of their gourd, he decided. Her eyes tried to focus on his, but were foiled by the sunglasses. “Why are you wearing those in the dark?” She asked, frowning. “Do your eyes glow?” She seemed to find this remark inordinately hilarious, much to his confusion. She leaned heavily against him and clambered back up onto her stool, but the altitude apparently bothered her.

“Ohhh.” She braced her hands on the edge of the bar and shook her head. “Damn, I guess I should have stopped at the drink before last… sorry, Michael, I’m feeling a little…”

“Oh hey, don’t worry yourself for one second there, my darling. Can I take you home?”

“…don’t have a home…” she murmured and flopped against him. Damn, he didn’t want her this out of it. He hooked her up off the barstool and ferried her up the stairs, out of the building.

“Hey!” Ham called after him, “Miss Eva, you don’t look so well… are you ok?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Deacon called back over his shoulder, “She’s had one too many, you know how it is, I’m just going to take her back to her room.”

Shit, did she have a room or did he have to pay for one? He hated having to leave more traces of himself than he had to. Luckily, Claire recognised her immediately and tossed a key onto the reception desk. She gave a concerned glance to the semi-conscious Eva but he smiled gaily and said he was looking after her. He scooped it up and swept her away and up the stairs. 

Once in the room, he deposited her on the bed where she groaned about her head and asked after Nick. Huh, so she did seem to like that old synth, that was something the Railroad could use and at least showed she might not be working for the Institute. On the other hand, she could be so deep undercover that that was what she wanted him to think. She dosed off for a second and that gave him just the opening he needed. He peeled off his t-shirt and jeans, and quickly laid down beside her.

She opened her eyes blearily and looked at him. “Oh, Michael…hi.” The smile she gave him made his gut clench and his groin twitch. Wherever she’d been, there was no doubt she was a fine looking woman and as a red-blooded man it was his duty to take this further. He had to know. “What are you doing here?” She asked.

He twisted a finger amongst her hair and gave her a soft smile. “You asked me to come with you.”

“Did I?” She frowned. “I guess I must have done.” She giggled. “You’re pretty handsome, I’m surprised I was that bold.” The abrupt compliment would have taken him out at the knees if he wasn’t already lying down. She tried to focus her eyes and managed to take in some details. “Where did your clothes go?”

“Oh, over there, I was feeling too warm.”

“Yeah, its pretty hot tonight.” She tugged uncomfortably at her collar before giving him a serious look. “I drank too much…I’m so sorry.”

“Its ok.” He ran a hand gently over her hair. “You make a cute drunk.”

“Hehe.” Her gaze drifted over his body. “Wow, Michael, you’re very fit.”

He cleared his throat. “All that…uh…farming gives a man plenty of exercise.”

Her fingers traced over his sculpted pectoral muscles, grazing against his nipple. He shut his eyes and repressed a groan. To hell with the information, this girl was driving him wild and she hadn’t really done anything yet. He shook himself back into the moment - damn she was a good operator, nearly had him there. He was determined to keep the upper hand here. Breathing heavily, revealing more about his aroused state than he intended, he propped himself up on his arms over her and gave her a dangerous look. Her pupils dilated. She liked that, huh? He gave her a grin and asked, “So do you like what you see?”

Both her hands came up to his chest and he had to use an extra effort of will to stop his arms from shaking. “Oh yes,” she said, “I’m liking that you’re making your feelings clear too.” Her fingers brushed down his abdomen and over his erection that was bulging in his drawers. He groaned. Focus, Deacon, focus, this girl is a serious player, don’t let her wrong-foot you.

“What man couldn’t.” He rasped and kissed her tentatively on the mouth, hoping to distract her hands.

It was as if she had been struck by a laser blast, she came alive in his arms, devouring his mouth, her hands all over him. With a muttered curse he threw off his flimsy drawers and allowed his painfully hard erection freedom into the open. Her fingers were getting in his way as they both tried to undress her. Infuriatingly slowly her layers of clothes peeled away and he had to catch his breath at the sight of her. Goddamn but she was beautiful. 

That told him one thing.

She had to be a synth.

However, he couldn’t keep his hands or his mouth away from those gorgeous breasts and when he dipped lower and discovered just how wet she was he had to admire the Institute for making such improvements. Was she some kind of Gen 4? He was past caring as her eager hands were all over his dick and she was murmuring soft pleas for him to be inside her. As the head of his cock pressed against the soft folds of her, almost finding its own way inside, he finally lost all reason and could do nothing but follow through.

She cried out in satisfaction and joy as he pushed his way inside her. A tight fit. Clearly all that stuff about her looking for her kid was a lie. Synth. She just had to be a synth, but damn she felt good, and there was surely no harm in this because if she were an Institute toy then her memory would be wiped once the Railroad got hold of her.

That gave him pause, just for a second, as he recalled Barbara and how she seemed so completely human until the UP Deathclaws came calling.  
she picked up on his sudden change in mood, drunk as she was. Her eyes were slightly unfocused with both the drink and her passion but she placed a hand on his cheek and asked. “Are you OK?”

He gave himself a mental shake and looked into her eyes again. She was giving him an intense look, despite the alcohol, as if she could see right through him in that moment. That terrified him. “I’m fine, darling.” He assured her and kissed her because his lips could lie better than his face could just then.

He awoke back to his desire, the kiss, the feel of her naked breasts against his chest, the way she moved her hips to drive him deeper. Des is never hearing about this, he decided and let his ardour finally swell over him and for a moment there was just him - not Deacon, not Michael, not any of the hundreds of things he’d ever called himself, just him- making love with a beautiful woman who could be whoever and whatever she wanted.

So it didn’t bother him that when she came, or pretended to, that it wasn’t his name she called out.

He held her, or more specifically, she wrapped herself around him and fell asleep nuzzled into him, a little smile on her lips.

It was a good act, he had to admit, worthy of him.

But she was an Institute synth.

There was no other explanation.

He would report back to Des and they’d find a way to get her rewritten. A tremor went through him, perhaps they could put Barbara’s memories into her… if they could be found. He could keep her. Even now his body was still reacting to her in ways it hadn’t with any other woman. Barbara? He couldn’t remember her completely and his heart tore. It wasn’t a betrayal… she’d been dead this past fifteen years and although he’d had to use his own charms often enough on various marks, this one felt different somehow.

Uncomfortable in his own head, he sat up abruptly and glanced around the darkened hotel room. Making sure Eva was still sound asleep - judging by the none-too-gentle snores coming out of her half-open mouth she was still out for the count. OK, Deacon, he told himself, lets get to some proper spying.

He rolled out of the bed, still feeling the amount of liquor it had taken to get her loose in his own head. He was going to have a ripe headache in a couple of hours. Wasting no time, he hauled his clothes back on and had a search in her pack.

To his dismay there was nothing that told him one way or the other what her plan was. In fact it left him even more confused. There was a can of dog food along with some stim-packs in one pocket. She traveled with a dog sometimes, he knew, but the empty camera, pencils, some abrasive cleaning powder, hot plate and a cake pan left him mystified. He’d never heard of synths developing hoarding tendencies, but if she was a next-gen then perhaps that was one of the quirks they had yet to work out.

There were no chips or other tech he could nab from her pack, because there wasn’t any. If she was an Institute spy she was either extremely good…or very inept. He double checked her clothing as he knew he’d been a little distracted when he was taking those off. Nothing other than a cigarette lighter and some little wooden soldier toy inexpertly carved from what looked like a chair leg. Damn, what crap to be lugging about.

Making sure his shades were in place, he cast a quick glance back at the slumbering woman sprawled naked on the bed. The Institute sure knew what they were doing with this one - nearly had him fooled. He shrugged his shoulders and quietly left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't shoot me! I love Deacon! Oh, and don't shoot me for the title pun either. Anything else, feel free.


End file.
